


Let the Sunshine In

by reedyas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, I broke canon, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Abuse, Probably ooc, Vietnam War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reedyas/pseuds/reedyas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vietnam War!AU - “Fuck the Draft, fuck the war, fuck the president!”</p><p>When a summer fling develops into more than a quick relationship, there will always be something trying to tear it apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Sunshine In

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear - at the beginning, Sansa is 16 and Sandor is 18 and not scarred. I think I broke canon with this fic.
> 
> Title is taken from the last song of the musical/movie _Hair._

**Georgia, June 1968**

The summer Sansa turned sixteen was the first time she traveled down South with her father Ned on his annual business trip. She enjoyed the change of scenery and her first true taste of freedom. Joffrey Baratheon, her father’s colleague’s handsome son, would take her out on walks around the Baratheon Plantation under the moon. She loved how fireflies lit up as they flew around the trees, and how Joffrey would hold her hand as they strolled. 

As June faded into July, Sansa became more comfortable with Joffrey and the idea of living in the South with him someday. She got along with Joffrey’s friends, Meryn and Boros. Sandor too. Sansa was always intrigued by Sandor, he was tall, muscular, and always in a bad mood. Sansa thought he would be handsome if he smiled once in a while. Meryn and Boros were nice enough, not very friendly but they laughed at every one of Joffrey’s jokes, even if they weren’t funny.

They would loiter around town during the day, and drive around the country side at night, drinking while Sansa would sing Beatles tunes.

Joffrey kissed her under a peach tree one evening in the middle of July. Sansa felt like she was flying. How could a handsome, blond, rich, eighteen year old have an interest in her?

As her father’s business trip came to a close, Sansa was utterly devastated when they had to return to their home in Massachusetts. Joffrey had urged her not to leave just yet, to stay until she was to return to school. Sansa begged and begged, and Ned finally agreed to three more weeks. Sansa was ecstatic, and as her father drove down the highway she felt something stirring in her gut, telling her to run after him and jump in the car. 

Joffrey became more physical the night after Ned departed. As they sat in the bed of Meryn’s pickup truck with a radio and a few six packs, he kept grabbing at her wrists, clutching her shoulder, and placing his hand on her knee possessively. Sansa tried to tell him that she wasn’t comfortable with that, but he and Boros and Meryn just laughed. Sandor glared at Joffrey from the tree he leaned on.

One night, when he was being very intrusive, Sansa stopped responding and just sat there. And when Joffrey began running his fingers up her inner thigh, Sandor intervened. “Stop fucking touching her!” he growled, lifting Sansa out of the bed.

“She’s m-mine. Not yours, f-fucking dog. C’m-mere, Sansa,” Joffrey barked. 

“Not tonight, Joffrey,” she said quietly under her breath.

“Come on, Little Bird. I’ll walk you home.” Sandor shrugged his leather jacket off his shoulders and placed it around hers as they paced down the dirt road away from the truck. 

Joffrey apologized the next morning. Sansa nodded, and told him that she was homesick and her train was leaving the next day. She had dinner at the Baratheon Plantation that night. She was going to miss Myrcella and Tommen, for they were only children. Cersei gave her a cold handshake goodbye, and Robert a drunken slap on the back. Joffrey walked her to the hotel where she called home for a month, and kissed her goodnight. Sansa didn’t kiss back.

The next morning, Joffrey, Sandor, Meryn, and Boros took her to the train station.

She kissed Joffrey on the cheek, and nodded at Meryn and Boros. She discreetly handed Sandor a slip of paper with her address and the words _keep in touch_ scrawled hastily under it. Sansa boarded the train, and as she pulled out of the station, she barely waved.

**Georgia, June 1969**

Sansa traveled down South with her father the next year, this time with Arya as well. At the unpredictable age of 15, it was no surprise that Arya spent most of her time exploring the town. Sansa was reconnected with Joffrey, Meryn, and Sandor. Boros had enlisted in the Army and was fighting overseas. Sansa didn’t miss him. 

Joffrey became more violent as soon as she returned. Arya noticed the bruises on her wrists, and told Ned immediately. Sansa was forbidden from seeing Joffrey ever again. She didn’t mind.

One afternoon, Sansa grew tired of being a third wheel for Arya and her new boyfriend, Gendry. She decided to grab a milkshake at a new diner on the edge of town. After she ordered, a familiar sight walked in through the door. Not seeing her, Sandor grabbed a menu and sat in a booth in the corner.

Sansa approached the booth cautiously. “Hey,” she greeted. “Are you with Joffrey?”

Sandor looked up, the hard look in his grey eyes softening slightly. “That prick can go screw himself,” he muttered, looking back down.

“Oh.” Sansa shifted, sipping at her shake. “Can I sit with you?”

Sandor shrugged. She sat on the plastic cushion across from him, crossing her legs. “What are you getting?”

He shrugged again. “Not very hungry. Do you want to split some fries?”

Sansa nodded. “I’d like that.”

Sandor and Sansa spent the remainder of their summer together. Whether Sansa was drinking a Cola at the auto shop where Sandor worked, or going for late night drives to the beach and back, they were together.

Sandor kissed Sansa for the first time under Fourth of July fireworks. He tasted like ice cream and cigarettes and beer. Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips as she leaned into the kiss. Sandor lightly bit her lower lip as his arm pressed her chest against his. Sansa sighed and felt nothing but Sandor.

The night before she left, Sansa gave herself to Sandor. They fucked for the first time in the back of Sandor’s Chevy while Led Zeppelin crooned on the radio. She blushed while Sandor slid his hands up her shirt, undoing the clasp of her bra. She lifted her top and bra up over her head while he stared at her, pale breasts a light orange from the streetlight above them. Sansa pulled his tight black tee shirt over his head, and lightly scratched her nails up and down his back. He groaned, hips bucking slightly. She shimmied out of her skirt and flung it over the passenger seat, giggling. Sandor smirked, kissing her jaw as he undid his jeans. 

His hands traveled down her chest and stomach, and eventually pulled her panties down to her knees. His fingers rubbed down her warm slit, trying to find the bundle of nerves that made girls scream. He ran his fingers over the nub, and Sansa let out a moan. She closed her eyes and squirmed under his touch, feeling herself become wetter with each press. “Please, Sandor,” she sighed, a warm pool filling her lower stomach. 

Sandor undid his belt and jeans, guiding his cock out. “Are you ready?” he asked in a low voice, fishing a condom out of his back pocket. Sansa nodded, biting her lip as he rolled it onto his hard manhood. Slowly, he entered her, connecting the two of them, like two halves made whole. Her walls clenched around him. Sandor panted as he placed kisses all along her neck and collar bone. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking up, heart dropping as he realized Sansa clenching her teeth, a bead of sweat running down her forehead.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Just a little tight.” Once she was more comfortable, Sansa nodded and Sandor began thrusting in and out, groaning as the rhythm sped up. 

His fingers found her clit again, and once he began to rub circles Sansa’s moans heightened until she squeezed around him, coming with a cry of _Sandor!_ He came not long after, panting and almost shouting _Sansa_ as he collapsed on top of her, careful not to crush her with his weight. 

“That was incredible,” Sansa murmured as Sandor rested his head on her chest. “I love you.” The words came tumbling out, just as easy as breathing.

“I love you too.” He looked up at her and cupped her cheek, pressing his lips to hers and let them travel down her neck towards her breasts and collar bones.

It was easy loving Sandor, just like it was easy smiling when the sun peeked out of the clouds after a rain storm. He was rough around the edges, but he was her favorite person. And she loved him for taking care of her and showing her freedom.

The next morning was the hardest she’d ever endured. She kissed him deeply behind the platform, where no one could see them. “Don’t forget about me,” she laughed through her tears.

“How the fuck could I?” he tucked a strand of red hair behind an ear. “Come on, I bet your father is waiting.”

As the train pulled away from the station, Sansa felt a piece of her get left behind.

**Massachusetts, December 1, 1969**

The Starks huddled around their small television set, eyes glued to the Draft Lottery on CBS. All were praying that Robb’s birthday wouldn’t be picked. Sansa chewed nervously on her nails as the numbers were picked.

_1\. Sep 14_

Sandor’s birthday.

“Sansa? Are you alright?” Catelyn asked after the lottery had finished. The rest of her family had left the room, relieved that Robb hadn’t been selected. Sansa was stuck to the couch, eyes not wavering from the television. Catelyn sat down next to her, a concerned look on her face.

“September 14 is Sandor’s birthday,” she whispered, cradling her head in her arms. “Mother, he’s going to die out there.” She looked up with tears in her eyes. “He can’t go. He just can’t.”

Catelyn embraced her eldest daughter as she wept silently. She had only heard about this Sandor, how he had completely swept Sansa off her feet. Ned didn’t particularly like him,  
but at least he wasn’t Joffrey.

“I-I have to call him.” She staggered into the kitchen, and dialed his number. After a few rings, a gruff voice said, “Hello?”

“Sandor?” she squeaked.

“Sansa,” he sighed.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said after a few minutes of silence.

“Me either.”

“When are you leaving?”

“A week after New Year’s.”

Sansa stood in the kitchen, hand covering her mouth as tears rolled down her face. “Sandor, I’m so scared.”

“Me too, Little Bird. Me too.”

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, then Sandor yelled with a crash in the background, “Fuck the Draft, fuck the war, fuck the president!”

Sansa quietly heaved a sob, silently agreeing.

**Georgia, Late December 1969**

Sansa took a train down two days after Christmas. When she found Sandor leaning against his car in front of the station, she ran to him.

Over the next two weeks, they only left her motel room to buy cigarettes, wine, and food from the Mini Mart down the street. They explored each other’s bodies, kissing and caressing as rain pattered down outside. They took Polaroids of each other, some while clothed and others while nude. Neither didn’t want to be apart from the other for long.

“I’ll always be thinking of you,” Sansa whispered one night in the dark.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m still afraid,” Sandor murmured back, lighting a cigarette and offering it to Sansa.

“My father said the only time you can be brave is when you’re afraid.” She took a drag, letting the smoke pour out of her mouth.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he sighed, tucking her into his chest.

Sandor left on a bus the next morning at five AM. Sansa stood outside of the motel and watched as the brake lights faded into the mist, hugging one of his tee shirts to her chest. She let out a sob when she could see them no more.

**Vietnam, May 1970**

Sandor leaned in the back of a truck as it sped down a dirt jungle road. He lit a cigarette with a swipe of a match on the bottom of his boot. Taking his helmet off, he ran a hand through his greasy hair. 

“Mind if I bum one?” a new recruit asked from the other side of the bed. Sandor shrugged, tossing him the pack. “Thanks. M’name’s Snow. Jon Snow.”

“Sandor Clegane,” he grumbled, sliding a Polaroid of Sansa from a spot inside his helmet. It had gotten wet, and the color was fading. But she was still beautiful. She was sitting on  
the motel bed, sitting Indian style with only one of his crewnecks and a pair of panties on. She was laughing and holding a bottle of wine, her hair hanging wet over one shoulder.

“Who’s that?” Jon asked, nodding at the picture. “Girl back home?”

He nodded, looking up. “Her name’s Sansa.”

“Sansa… Stark?”

Sandor looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Do you know her?”

Jon broke out in a grin. “She’s my half-sister! What a coincidence, huh?”

Sandor nodded, still perplexed. “How is she? Or, how was she when you last saw her?”

“Stressed. I don’t think it was about school, though. She’s moving to San Francisco for college after she graduates.”

He looked down at the Polaroid. “I can’t fucking wait to see her again.”

**Vietnam, January 1971**

Smoke hung low through the canopies of tropical leaves. Sandor could hardly see five feet in front of him. He ran blindly through the jungle, shooting towards wherever he heard a gunshot. His legs felt numb and a cold sweat had developed on the back of his neck.

He ran past the feeble cries of help from bloodied soldiers on the ground, too panicked to think of anything else than running. The stench of blood and burning bodies filled his  
nostrils, causing him to vomit onto a pile of leaves. 

He fell to the ground, his boot stuck on a tight wire. Sandor saw the grenade inches away from the right side of his face, but it was too late.

A bright light. Searing pain. Nothing.

**Army Base, Vietnam, February 1971**

Sandor sat up in his hospital bed, running a hand over the newly scarred flesh that covered half of his face. He didn’t think he would ever get used to seeing the monster whenever he glanced in a mirror. 

He spent most of his time in the hospital glaring at the nurses and patients. The doctors had told him he was very lucky. Sandor didn’t think it was lucky that he would have a permanent mask on his face for the rest of his life.

It had all happened so fast. He thought he was dead. He had seen so many of his comrades fall before him, watch their brains splatter onto the ground or their arms and legs fly because of an explosion. 

He held back his tears when he would jolt awake from nightmares that plagued his dreams.

“Clegane,” a voice called, snapping him out of his thoughts. A letter landed on his lap. He quickly tore it open, not bothering to see who it was from.

His breath stilled as he recognized the handwriting, the circular letters and neat penmanship. 

_Dear Sandor,_

_I miss you so much. I think about you every night, praying and hoping that you’re safe. I love you. It kills me not knowing if you’re awake and breathing._

_I moved across the country, to San Francisco. I’m studying History and Political Science at Quills College in SF. You should see the people here, Sandor. They’re so free and happy. Everyone is so honest with themselves and their opinions, I think you would like it a lot. I wouldn’t call myself a “hippie,” but I’m not going to lie – I’ve been to a few anti-war protests in my time here. It’s not fair that men in suits are selecting random young men to fight a war they started._

_When you’re released, come find me. Come back to me. I’m at either school or work most of the day, but I sing at the Owl Club on Washington St every Tuesdays and Thursdays.  
I miss you more and more every day, Sandor. I haven’t stopped loving you. I hope you still love me too._

_Always yours,_

_Sansa Stark_

**San Francisco, September 1971**

Sansa swayed back and forth as she sang into the microphone at the dumpy burlesque club. It was hard sometimes, having men grab at her and try to look up her pencil skirts,  
but she didn’t let it bother her. Tuesdays and Thursdays were the nights the dancers had off, and the owner wanted an excuse to keep the club open all week. 

She was singing a Nancy Sinatra cover, eyes staring into the darkness of the club. A low applause erupted after she finished, and Sansa picked up her tip cup and walked off stage. Fortunate Son played over the speakers as intermission set in. She walked over to the bar and ordered a beer from her friend Margaery.

She smiled emptily and said thank you, turning around with the bottle in her hand.

As she began walking backstage to grab her coat, a large hand set itself on her shoulder. “Sansa?” a heartbreakingly familiar voice mumbled.

Sansa turned around and gasped. “Sandor?” she whispered, eyes sweeping over his face. Her mouth widened in horror as she reached to run her fingers over the scar tissue. He  
flinched away from her hand. “Oh my god, I – I – I don’t even know what to say.” She felt tears roll down her cheeks.

“You told me to come find you. I’ll understand if you want me to stay the fuck away. I just needed to see you,” Sandor grumbled, looking down.

“Look at me,” Sansa said through her teeth, grabbing his shoulders. “If you think I’m going to leave you because of a war injury you acquired while defending everybody here, including me, you’re an idiot.” Sansa pulled his face towards her, and pressed her lips against his.

He hesitated before wrapping his arms around her back and lifted her off the ground. “Do you want to split some fries somewhere?” he asked breathless after pulling back.

Sansa laughed and wiped a tear from her eye. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
